LEAVING A TRAIL OF BLOOD

11 years earlier, Late Spring, 01:21 PM

Summer Villa of the Spencers >

The water was red, soaked with bloodstains from his hand. Most cuts were not too deep, and the throbbing pain was more of background noise, drowned out by thoughts. The last fifteen minutes or five hours, he couldn't really tell, had passed him by in a trace. In autopilot, he had collected the shards of the ground, cleaned up the mess, and thrown it out. Now, the first aid kit had been placed next to the sink waiting for further action, but his mind was still wandering. Too focused on the storm inside.

A soft crack. It wouldn't have been audible for anyone else. The sound of the water from the tab was too loud. But for him, his senses were heightened, focused on the floor above. The door closed up above, but ever so softly. If the man earlier hadn't woken up by now, this soft sound would certainly not have put a dent in his sound sleep.

He turned off the tab. Because it was enough, not because he wanted to focus more on the sounds upstairs. But the carpets were swallowing up any steps that might otherwise have been heard. Lost in thoughts, he reached out for the disinfectant spay, covering his wounds in a tiny droplets, barely noticing the sting.

There they were! Already in the lobby. The stone floor gave her steps away.

Tak.

Tak.

Tak.

Heels this time. The hairs on his neck rose up as if an electric current was passing by. But it was passing by too quickly.

Tak.

Tak.

She was just about to reach the door. He could estimate it even though he didn't see her. She was walking behind his back, and he wasn't about to turn around to see her one last time. He reached for the bandages and wrapped it hard over his hand.

"Ouch!"

Tak! A pause. The door wasn't opened. A soft sigh. Then…

Tak.

Tak.

Tak.

The sound was getting closer.

"I'm fine." He mumbled when he finally could see her shadow fall on him. She fished out the tweezers from the kit and wordlessly offered one hand up to him. Without a word in return, he places his hand with the inside up in hers. Her hair fell down and hid her face as she pulled out a remaining glass shard from his hand. It was five minutes. Maybe seconds. But all too soon, she finished wrapping up his hands like a professional nurse. The first aid kit was gone. But she was still there. Without a word. He couldn't keep his eyes from her. Her lips drew into a thin line as her jaw set.

She turned on her heel, ready to walk off once more.

"You know it's not your fault!" He blurted out. She stopped again. "So…you know…that I got hurt…that was my fault. And I'm sorry for kissing you without permission earlier. I don't know what came over me. It's not an excuse, but it was my fault. So…getting hurt…well, I am the only one to blame, so…there is no need to feel sorry."

"…sorry?" Her head slightly turned around, and he could see her lips curl into a smile, before bursting out in ugly laughter. "Ha!" She faced him, finally – but with a rage that made the air think and threatened to explode the room, "I'm not sorry; I don't have time to feel sorry like some regretting fool. If you want to go that path, go ahead, but don't drag me down with you because I'm not sorry. About anything."

He swallowed – thankful that the darkness in the room was hiding his expression. Just as he thought this, headlights from the window towards the driveway flooded the room, moving from him over to the woman, giving him the chance to get one last look at her fiery eyes, her determined stance, and burning red hair before the darkness swallowed them both again.

"It seems my ride has arrived." Her tone of voice was back to normal, neutral, borderline bored.

He opened his mouth, but couldn't find the right or really any words.

Tak.

Tak.

Tak.

Every step on the marble floor in the main foyer resonated eerily through the quiet night. He could hear the main door fall into position, now fully closed. His body set into a slow-motion, towards the window. He could see her then. Getting in another Mercedes, not quite as fancy as the Maybach, but still outside anything he could afford. The lights turned back on and so did the sound of the motor. Red light shone through the window and across his face. The car was set in motion and drove back down towards the gate. Then it was out of sight. It was still again. He was left there standing for he didn't know how long. A throb from his palm pulled him out of his trance. He stared down at the bandaged hand. A small dot of red was starting to drain through the white bandage wrap. His fingers closed around it as if they were trying to trap it inside. His eyes wandered down to the floor. It was now clean. But somehow…he had the feeling that this incident would require some more time to wipe off his plate. She was gone from his life. But not his memories. Not for a long time.